Chapter 8Maisie
Chapter Eight
Maisie
A fter dropping the cake off at Hannah’s house, we stopped by the grocery store to pick up some wrapping paper and something for dinner, since Elijah’s fridge is just as empty as the rest of his house.
I learned quickly that the grilled cheese combo wasn’t him trying to evoke a sense of nostalgia.
The man just hasn’t gone grocery shopping in weeks.
He usually picks his meals up at the diner when he isn’t bouncing between Hannah’s and his parents.
“Okay, what do you need me to do?” I ask as I walk into the kitchen, pulling my hair up into a ponytail.
Elijah glances up from the stove, doing a double take as his gaze rakes down my body like I’m wearing something much more scandalous than a well-loved oversized Stevie Nicks concert t-shirt and black bike shorts.
At least I’m wearing a bra this time.
“Nothing,” he says, smiling to himself and continuing to prep the meat.
He’s got everything set out and ready to go, from the two New York strips, the tiny golden potatoes already sliced in half, seasoned and ready to go into the air fryer, to the open bottle of red wine beside two highball glasses.
“Let me take care of the potatoes, at least. I know men are territorial with their meat, can’t imagine a wolf shifter would be any different.” I walk further into the kitchen.
He shoots me a glare and turns, lifting me by the waist and setting me on the edge of the center island. “Stay,” He shakes his finger, then turns and pours a glass of red zinfandel, placing it in my hand.
“This doesn’t seem right.”
Still, I take a sip of the wine, watching as Elijah washes his hands and goes back to prepping the steak.
“Haven’t you had anyone cook for you before?” He asks over his shoulder.
I hesitate, cycling through most of my relationships. College consisted of instant ramen and midnight fast-food runs, nothing romantic about that. Things only got a little more upscale when I started dating Max, we were both doing pretty well, so we ate out a lot.
“Is that a no?” He pauses, that smile returning, “Am I the only man who has ever cooked for you other than your father?”
“Don’t put it that way. I’m having flashbacks to 15-year-old Elijah in 38-year-old Elijah’s body making experimental s’mores in the microwave.” I cringe, taking another sip of wine.
“Can’t say that was my finest hour.” He shakes his head as he pan-sears the meat, “What? Not even Max?” There’s a teasing quality in his voice that feels like jealousy.
Max was, how do I put this, privileged. He had a full-ride in college and got a leg up from doing content for his mother’s business that gave him his first 20k followers. I don’t remember him doing his own laundry once when we were together, he’d usually send it out.
I hide my smile behind my highball glass then clear my throat, “No, he was too busy boinking my friend while I was attending conferences. He told me it was because I was working too much. Joke’s on him since I was let go just a few months later.”
Shit. Note to self, slow down on the red wine.
“Magpie, I’m sorry.” Elijah’s tone digs into my chest.
“I’m not,” I shrug trying to avoid eye contact, “I realized we were more representing a brand than having an actual relationship. All those carefully curated social media moments held no memories. It’s just static.”
“Is that why you stopped posting?”
I look up, “You’ve been following my Instagram?”
“What?” Elijah turns, the tips of his ears going pink. “No, not in a stalker way. You tagged Hannah and Alexis in a lot of photos when you were home. They don’t post a lot, so it was nice to see them when I was overseas. ”
When you were home. That’s exactly how it feels right now. All these years, I’ve just been away from home. Nothing has come close to this. Maybe there is some odd gravitational pull from The Wonder Hole, or maybe my compass has always pointed directly towards Elijah.
“I can’t believe I let life keep me away for so long. Four years.”
“Ghostlight Falls will always be here for you.” He smiles, setting the pan-seared steaks aside.
I want to believe he means he will always wait for me, but I could never hope. No, I could never ask for that, and even imagining it feels like I’m flying a little too close to the sun.
“So, speaking of. When did Alexis’ whole frog hyper-fixation start? Last time I checked, she wanted to be a lawyer.”
“I’m pretty sure it started with taking care of the class frog, then she went to the Great Basin Spadefoot Museum and saw a movie on local preservation efforts.
The next weekend she picked up Jeremiah from Ruff ’n Tumble.
Jacob and I spent a weekend helping her build his terrarium, you should see it.
The frog lives better than I do.” He slides the cooking sheet with the two steaks into the oven and sets the timer.
I glance out into the dining room at the plastic totes still stacked against the wall, biting my tongue.
After dinner, we continue catching each other up in the living room until the conversation stalls. I knew it was coming; we had strayed far enough from my admission with no resolution, so it was inevitable.
“What are you going to do?” He asks, setting his glass on the dark wood coffee table.
I know exactly what he’s asking and all I can say is, “I don’t know.”
Elijah watches me, giving me space.
“I’ll figure things out. Thanks to my severance package, the apartment is paid until the end of the month. I have a few couches I can crash on until I find a new place within my price range.”
“You know.” He leans back.
“Don’t.” I level a finger at him.
“What?” He laughs, resting his arm on the couch behind me.
“You’re giving me that look.”
“What look?”
I sigh, “The one that says you want to fix all of my problems.”
Elijah smirks, obviously pleased with himself as he stretches out on the couch. I try to ignore how the warmth of his thigh burns right through the thin polyester blend of my bike shorts.
My thoughts flicker back to the night before, tracing the memory of him skin to skin, shining with sweat, and how it would be a balm to my senses on this chilly autumn evening.
“You know exactly what you’re doing. I can read your mind.” I poke his chest.
He stops, tilting his head, his tone remains light while his expression changes into something more serious, “Can you?”
“It’s always been written all over your face. I know you.”
He looks down, “Right. I’m not the hero. Got it.”
That’s when I notice my palm spread over his chest, slowly drifting towards his stomach. I suck in a breath and begin to pull it away when Elijah covers it with his own. This feeling is too much, I can already feel the wax in my wings beginning to melt.
“Maisie,” he mutters, cupping my cheek, his fingertips trailing back and tangling in my hair as his gaze flits to my lips.
I lean against his palm, moving closer, his dog tags clicking together as they shift against my skin.
He closes the distance between us, his heavy breath filling the silence as I slide my hand up his chest and over his shoulder.
The air shifts between us, and it travels directly to my core, primal and instinctive.
“ Please .” The request is so soft that I’m not sure if I even heard him say it, perhaps my brain just filled in the blank. Or it was just my wishful thinking, but I indulge myself, closing my eyes the moment our lips touch.
It’s a question. Is this okay? As the wine wears off, my confidence has begun to fade, and I’m left second guessing myself until he responds in kind.
“ Yes.”
Each kiss builds upon the other, until his tongue flicks across my lip, testing. Teasing.
I pull away, looking into his eyes, “I’m not going to fuck you tonight.”
Elijah chuckles, his breath feathering against my lips. “Good, that’s not what I want.” He doesn’t waste any time as he kisses me again, tongue brushing against my lips, teasing them apart. He’s sweeter than the red wine, reminding me a little of cinnamon, which makes me want to savor every moment.
I climb over him, straddling his thigh to chase the taste. He flexes to meet me until I’m grinding down on him, one of his hands going to the back of my neck and the other sliding down my hip and cupping my ass.
“You are so fucking perfect.” He whispers, burying his face against my neck, matching my movements until I can feel the friction of his jeans through my shorts.
The way he squeezes my ass, his teeth grazing my neck, pulls a whimper from me. I clutch his shoulders, riding his thigh, feeling like I’m in heat. Every part of me wants to cross my earlier boundary and feel him sink deep into my cunt.
“Use me, baby girl.” He growls in my ear, hand squeezing my ass harder, increasing the sensation.
“Fuck,” I moan, that one request causing me to shatter as I grind against him, riding out my orgasm as he whispers filthy promises and worship.
As I come down, I lean my head on his shoulder, the feeling of his hand gliding up and down my back grounding me. Twice, he has given me space but also has been there the moment I needed him. Never making it about him, never taking more than I was ready to give.
Maybe I am ready to see where this might go.